


He's Dangerous

by shoesoftennis



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Boy x boy, Language, M/M, Victorian era, black market
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:46:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoesoftennis/pseuds/shoesoftennis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a misguided nobleman in London, England. Allen is a black market guns and explosives dealer. They meet when their dastardly paths cross, and though they go their separate ways, fate decides to intertwine them faster than either of them could foresee. DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Dangerous

**London, England**

**1899**

A bird nestled on the rafter above Arthur Kirkland’s head. It cooed softly in its sleep, the sound like a hopelessly romantic sigh. Arthur smiled, the corner of his mouth tipping up subtly. He turned over slowly so as not to disturb the woman sleeping lightly next to him.

                The way the dim light of the gas lantern at her feet fell over her uncovered bosom and bare hips highlighted her contours and gave her an ethereal glow. He drew a dainty finger down her side, his blood beginning to thrum. He let his finger travel to her thigh and trace simple, messy patterns on her shimmering skin. She shifted, her mouth curling upwards into a sleepy, drunk grin. He glanced at the dress pooling on the floor by her feet, remembering how she had tried to seem like a plain, homespun girl – not the wild, rebellious heiress she was. The dress was of the finest cotton and well-made but a boring yellowish white that might not have alerted common folk of her rank, but her shoes, black silken things with gold lining, definitely gave her away. That was why so many men had gathered around and flirted with her despite her unremarkable face. Arthur wondered if she had noticed. _Probably not,_ he thought. _She was just glad for the attention._

She had told him after their romp that this had been her first time sneaking out. “I’m so glad I did,” she murmured against his chest as she fell asleep. “You have the lovemaking skills of a Greek god, Arthur, you do.”

                “Which one?” he had asked, hoping to hear Zeus or Poseidon. But she had already dropped off into the land of dreams.

                Now, he watched her stir and almost wake then drift into unconsciousness once more. She turned onto her side and began to snore quite loudly. Arthur rolled his eyes and sat up, tugging on his burlap pants and ratty, cotton shirt he considered synonymous with rags. But they were good for a disguise. He supposed he could arrange meetings with prostitutes like his fellow noblemen instead of risking his face in a crowded pub full of men, but it reminded Arthur of his pirating days, and the thrill of picking up women who did not sell themselves for a living was much better than paying for someone to fuck.

                He slipped down the rickety stairs, avoiding a mouse that streaked from a hole in the wall to an empty barrel nearly invisible behind a curtain of shadow. He squinted back up at the loft, hoping the girl could find her way home. Maybe he should go wake her, make sure she doesn’t get into trouble… No, she might be one of those clingy types that would want him to marry her. He liked his lifestyle right now – one-night stands and excessive alcohol consumption. The feral desire that haunted him at night seemed like a second skin, a Mr. Hyde, another nature, was spurred by the adrenaline of being recognized as the human personification of England and exposed as a scandalous mongrel.

                For a number of years, he had bought the evangelical belief that sex was strictly for producing offspring, not ecstasy or relieving stress. Then he realized he shouldn’t deny himself the thing he had had almost constantly during his pirate days. Even with his own crew. Sure, they didn’t smell like roses, but they had the tightest assholes and a few had amazingly large cocks.

                He left with a blissful smirk on his face, his mind not on the girl he’d left back in the warehouse or on the dark, ghostly docks he would have to navigate without a lantern but on the glory days of summers past. He stretched his arms up to the fading night sky, his mind burning with nostalgia. He was so hopelessly entrenched inside his past romances that he didn’t notice when he wandered near an American cargo ship recently docked. Two men in black overcoats and black hats stood on the deck, their eyes intently on each other until they heard Arthur approach. He was mindlessly humming a sea shanty, lost within his grossly exaggerated thoughts.

                Before Arthur knew it, he’d bumped into a tall man with oddly white, straight teeth and a crooked nose. And a pair of hellish red eyes. “Well,” the man said, his accent obviously American, “I suppose you’ll have to come with me, won’t you, old boy?”

                “Wh-what?” Arthur sputtered, taking a step back and raising an arm as if in defense of a coming attack. “Why would I do that?”

                “Because I said you would,” the man answered. He slung an arm casually around Arthur’s shoulders and relentlessly steered him toward the large cargo ship. It was unmarked, its steel sides glinting harshly in the muted light of the moon. Arthur felt panic rise in his chest, and he tried to duck out of the man’s arm, but he caught the back of Arthur’s neck and held him fast. “Oh, tried to give me the slip, did ya?” He smirked at Arthur, those blinding teeth reminding Arthur of daggers. “C’mon, I’ll getcha a drink. Wouldn’t ya like that, old boy?”

                “Quit calling me that,” Arthur protested. He gritted his teeth and took a swing at the man. He completely and utterly missed.

                The man moved as fast as lightning, grabbing Arthur’s fist and twisting it behind his back. With his free hand, he gripped Arthur’s jaw and dragged him close. The man leaned in, his hot breath tickling Arthur’s ear. “Do you like tea? I know all you British men like tea, so I’ll just let you choose the kind when we get down to the kitchen,” the man said casually as if Arthur hadn’t just tried to punch him in his already crooked nose.

                “Unhand me, you vagrant!” Arthur growled, squirming and trying to dig his elbow into the man’s ribs.

                “Vagrant? Oh, no, I’m very rich, I assure you,” the man said, jerking Arthur onto the boat. He covered his captive’s mouth, passing the two men on deck who looked at him and Arthur once and nodded before continuing on with their intensely quiet conversation.          

                Arthur struggled even more, trying desperately to kick the man’s shins. “Let me go!” he exclaimed, but his shout was muffled into a mumble by the other’s hand. The man’s palm smelled of metal, so he must have been on this boat during its voyage. But where had he even _come_ from? He had just materialized in front of Arthur like a ghost – albeit a very athletic, corporeal ghost.

                “I’m sorry, I can’t understand ya, darlin’,” the man said. Arthur could just imagine him smugly smiling; it was in his goddamn voice.

                Shoving fruitlessly against the man’s chest was doing nothing for Arthur except for digging his elbows into the man’s rock hard abdomen, but the man didn’t even seem to _notice_. _Maybe he is some kind of ghost,_ Arthur thought. _But what kind of ghost is the question._

Another burst of icy panic gripped Arthur as he saw the man was headed toward a steel door. _He’s going to put me in a cell and leave me to rot, so he can do… do whatever it is he’s here for!_ he thought. And then it came to him. He knew why this man was here. Some rotten business deal was going down tonight, and he’d unknowingly walked right into the thick of it. That’s why the ship had arrived so late and why the man had been standing guard at the front of the boat. It made perfect sense.

                Once they got close to the door, the man removed his hand from Arthur’s mouth and clutched both of his captive’s arms in one hand. Arthur twisted his wrists toward the man’s thumbs – an old trick he’d learned out at sea. But the man was quick to open the door. He shoved Arthur inside the room and shut and locked the door back.

                “Hey!” Arthur shouted. The man had released him, and he now stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the door. He smirked at Arthur.

                “What?” he asked. “I said I’d make you tea.”

                Arthur looked around. There were three electric stoves and two sinks with dishes piled in them. Open cupboards nearly overflowed with plates and utensils, and several ice boxes sat opposite the stoves, their dirty sides making Arthur think the food inside might be spoiled. “This is your galley,” Arthur said. It was much different than his had been on his pirate ship so many centuries ago.

                “Yeah, guess that’s what it is,” the man said. He held out a hand and winked at Arthur. “Call me L.”

                “L?” Arthur said. He squinted up at the man – L. “What is it short for?”

                “Lucifer,” the man said, smirking devilishly. Arthur took a step back, knowing the man was joking but… his eyes… They reminded Arthur of hellfire.

                “It’s not my real name, but I’m not telling you my actual one. That’s just a bad idea,” L said. Now, in the somewhat brighter light of the ship, Arthur could see that L resembled Alfred a lot. In fact, they could almost be twins if L had lighter skin, blue eyes, and blond hair.

                Arthur raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. “Why is it such a bad idea?” he asked.

                L stooped down to grab a kettle, and Arthur inched toward the door, trying very hard to be silent. _It locks from the inside, so if I can just unlock it… But fuck, I need a key! A key, a key, where would someone keep a key?_ he wondered, searching L’s body for any sign of a key.

                Placing the kettle under the sink faucet, L began to fill it up. He turned to smile cordially at Arthur. “So, what’s your favorite type of tea? I got Earl Grey and chamomile,” he said. “Which will it be?”

                “You have quite a selection,” Arthur said sarcastically. He could find a plate and hit L over the head with it. That might knock the man out long enough for Arthur to search his pockets and find that damn key.

                “I really can’t believe you’re not more mad about me kidnapping you,” L said. His smile morphed into a roguish grin, and he shut off the running water and placed the iron kettle on the stovetop. “Or maybe you’re not mad because I’m just so handsome~”

                Arthur nearly spat, but he contained himself and casually walked toward the cupboards. “I don’t think that’s it,” he muttered. “Where are the teacups and saucers? I will get them out.”

                He reached toward a cupboard and tugged it open, but L suddenly appeared in front of him, smirking. “Nah, I’ll get it. We don’t have teacups, but we have mugs,” he said and grabbed Arthur’s wrist, tugging him to the next cupboard.

                “A mug? What, a _mug_? No! I will not drink my tea out of anything but a teacup! A china one, preferably,” Arthur argued, his face reddening angrily. “No self-respecting man drinks tea out of a mug!”

                L ignored him and pulled the mug out of the next cupboard. “You never answered my question about which tea you want,” he said.

                “Get me a teacup!” Arthur shouted, wrenching himself out of L’s grip. His blood was boiling, and all he could see was red. How _dare_ this American idiot kidnap him and act all nice despite the fact he was holding Arthur _captive_. “Get me a damn teacup, or – shit! So help me, I will bash your head in with a dinner plate!”

                “So that _was_ your plan,” L muttered, slamming the mug on the counter. “Dammit, I tried to be nice! This is what I get for being nice.”

                “Being _nice_?” Arthur yelled. “What! You _kidnapped_ me!”

                L whipped around, his cheeks matching his hair. He loomed over Arthur and fixed him with a glare sharper than daggers. “Of course I did, what was I supposed to do? You might have fucking told the cops about my business deal!” he exclaimed.

                “Ha! So it _is_ an underground business deal,” Arthur said, jabbing a finger into L’s chest.

                L gritted his teeth, leaning over Arthur, encasing him in a flaming shadow. “I didn’t say that,” he growled, a vein popping out of his neck. His eyes burned with irritation, but Arthur refused to back down. He glared right back at L, his gaze icy.

                “You actually did,” he snarled, coming almost nose to nose with L.

                L opened his mouth to retort when the door creaked open, and a man stuck his head in and said, “Uh, it’s done.”

                Immediately, the rage in the room dissipated to awkwardness. Arthur put his hands on his hips and looked away, and L laced his fingers behind his head, sucked in a deep breath, blew it out, and walked over to the man. He muttered to the man for a bit before disappearing with him into the hallway and locking the door behind himself.

                Arthur was left with the steaming kettle and ugly, fat mugs that he pretended were teacups as he made himself some Earl Grey tea. He was afraid to put any of the milk from the ice box into it, so he made do with one spoonful of questionable sugar.

                As he leaned against the back wall of the galley and unwound, he wondered why he hadn’t seen any of the crew in the halls. Maybe L had stuck them all into some cargo hold and told them to stay put until the deal was over. And now that Arthur listened, he could hear some shouting maybe a level below him. Perhaps there were some crew members down there. Several pairs of footsteps clanged closer to the galley, and Arthur thought they might be coming up the stairs to the deck. He hoped one of them would accidentally let him out. Or did only L have a key to the galley? That would seem a bit inefficient… But if he did, did that mean L was the cook?

                Before he could finish his thought, the door banged open, and L stood there with a burlap sack. Arthur saw a few shapes rush past, the footsteps much louder now. There was even some talking and laughing.

                “See you made your tea,” L said. Arthur felt depressed just watching the door close again. Would L suffocate him with the bag? No, there seemed to be something inside of it – something heavy – so would L beat Arthur to death with it? Possibly.

                “Yes,” Arthur replied carefully.

                L nodded slowly and then shuffled toward him. “Um, I’m going to pay you for your silence,” he mumbled, holding the bag out to Arthur.

                “What is in it?” Arthur asked, setting his tea down next to the sink. He took the bag and nearly fell down – it was so heavy. He propped it next to his mug (excuse me – teacup) and opened it to find three bars of gold gleaming in the dim electric lights. “G-gold?”

                “Yeah,” L said. “You want it or not? You don’t gotta take it.”

                “N-no, I’m taking it,” Arthur said. “You gave it to me. I’m keeping it.” He glanced up into L’s face, completely shocked. When L said he would buy Arthur’s silence, Arthur didn’t expect him to think it was worth _this_ much. “That must have been some hefty deal you were negotiating.”

                “Please, don’t talk about it,” L muttered. He scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, you’re free to go.”

                Arthur clamped the sack shut and walked toward the door, never taking his eyes off L. “Right,” he said slowly. When his back touched the door, he swiveled on his heel and hurried down the corridor. He dodged the crew as they began unloading the ship’s cargo. There were enough lanterns for Arthur to see **NITROCELLULOSE** written on the boxes. _Nitrocellulose? Guncotton?_ he thought. _What do they need explosives for?_

He shook his head and held the bag closer to his chest. He wouldn’t say anything. He had three bars of gold in here, and he wasn’t giving that up no matter whose life was on the line. _I am so cold-hearted,_ he thought, a soft wistfulness filling him. He glanced at the warehouse he had rented simply for romantic rendezvous before hustling behind another warehouse. The warm glow of the lantern near the bed disappeared, and Arthur wondered if the girl was still there, if she was still asleep. He suddenly realized he’d had that lantern too near the bed and that it could have lit them on fire at any moment. Looking over his shoulder, he swallowed one last glimpse of L’s unmarked boat. Arthur really loved playing with fire. And maybe the flames would drag him down for this one. Maybe they would reduce him to ashes.

                Still, he clutched the bag full of gold tighter to his heart and weaved through the docks, heading back into a slumbering London.


End file.
